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Dolly Waters · (04-29-2025)

OOC: Sorry, this bad boy is well over the word limit. I tried cutting down. I'm going clean up the coding now.

Sometime after receiving a blistering phonecall from Corey Smith, a frantic Dolly Waters arrived at the commune in Coreytopia, Florida.

For Dolly, Coreytopia was more than just the site of MayDay.

It was her old home.

A symbol of her struggle, her hope, and her vision for a better, more altruistic world. It had been the birthplace of a dream she fought for, a place where those kicked the hardest by society, by greed, by addictions, had another chance to build a life worth fighting for too.

Dolly had been one of those people. Many moons ago Corey Smith offered her a life here, as she contemplated falling into oblivion. These sacred grounds to her became a place where a lifetime of memories were made, undying friendships forged and the most consequential of events in her life occurred.

Dolly’s old pickup truck cleared a passing of trees along a dusty road, and the property was now in full-sight.

Offward, in the visible miles across the land, were barns she’d helped raise. Fields she’d sewn. Sweating out the toxins of addictions alongside comrades who all battled the same. The commune had been a place of renewal… a temple where everything she had fought for had come to life. Or so it felt.

But today, it felt different. A place once built on the ideals of freedom and equality had become a shell of what it used to be.

Dolly parked her truck, stepping out onto the familiar ground. She walked through the commune, past the old community garden and the makeshift stages that had been built for the previous MayDay festivals. Being erected in their place now was a giant XWF logo, probably 40 feet tall. It’s gaudy and bristling with Crypto and corporate sponsorship logos.

It all felt... wrong now.

It didn’t look like the Coreytopia she had known and cherished.

The MayDay she’d once built, filled with hope, with purpose, had become a sideshow, a mockery of everything it was meant to be.

Dolly stepped through the main gates and into the mansion on the property where Corey Smith was waiting. Corey had transformed the mansion into a common living quarter for the commune's residents years ago, and the structure still stood with the quiet dignity of its intent even amidst the chaos that surrounded it. She stepped inside, and it didn't feel like the home she remembered.

Sitting in the main dining area was Corey Smith, staring down at some papers strewn across the table.

Corey? she quietly asks,

His voice was cold, and barely audible

I didn’t think you’d show up

The words cut deeper than she expected. He wasn’t wrong, but it stung. She let everyone down.
I'm sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I should've seen it coming. I was young…

Reckless.

He slammed his fist onto the table, his frustration rising.

Yer’ right. But this isn’t what I intended, and you know that. You were there alongside me for the first MayDay. So let me try and fix this? We can just talk to Thad, call the whole thing off. It’ll most likely be an uneventful knock-off anyhow.

Corey sighs deeply, rubbing his forehead, finally looking up at her. There was a weariness in his eyes, but also something colder… a deep disappointment that felt impossible to ignore.

You always let them take from you, Dolly. And it always becomes someone else's problem. Remember the first MayDay? It was about showing gratitude. Well, some way of showing me, and the people who lived here with you, how grateful you are. The XWF has taken over my home without warrant. You’ve lost control, and that’s something you promised you would never let happen all of those years ago.

Dolly lowered her gaze, the shame flooding her chest. She had been so certain of her control, of her ability to steer the ship back on course. But now, she could see the damage clearly.

I know. I failed you. quietly, I failed all of us. But I’m here now. I’ll fix it. I swear.

Corey leans back, crossing his arms as he stares at her, unflinching.

I didn’t- he cuts her off

-You didn’t see it? No, you didn’t see it coming because you didn’t want to. You stopped caring about this place and the people in it a long time ago. You’re working with Dyson now - - - DYSON. His fist slammed the table again, papers flying,

You let her drag you back into this…corporate bullshit! My sworn enemy, and my “BEST FRIEND”, my “WONDER TWIN” playing tag-team for a company that’s turning my home into a mockery. DYSON IS BANNED FROM HERE, BY THE WAY - the only reason you’re not banned is because I THINK I still know who you are, Dolly. But look at what you’ve done. Look at what we’ve done.

Dolly bit her lip, holding back the emotions. She’d let Corey down. And worse, she had let herself down.
I’ll fix this. she repeats softy, I’ll make it right

Corey looked at her for a long moment, the tension between them thick, before finally standing and scooting his chair under the table.

You’re here, fine. But don’t think for a second you’re in the clear. You’ve got a room upstairs where it’s always been. But you haven't earned your place back yet.

Dolly nodded, her heart heavy with the weight of his words. She deserved it. Every bit of it.

As Corey left, Dolly sat there, silent, letting the reality of it all sink in. The anger and disappointment of her old friend still hangs thick in the air, but there was something even more crushing. The communal warmth of the space, the sense of ownership and belonging was gone, replaced with an empty echo.

Dolly begins walking until she reaches the end of the hallway, where the door to her old room stands. It was there, just like she remembered it, but something felt wrong.

Dolly reaches for the handle,

here goes nothing she murmur,

She tries to turn the knob. Locked. She steps back, confused, and frowning

This doesn’t make sense

she raises an eyebrow and gives the door a half-hearted tap.

Before she can pull her fist down, the door creaks open.

Standing in the doorway was Warfare GM Peter Principle. Wearing his trademark stale glare, a tailored suit and too much hair gel. With a clipboard in his hands, his eyebrows are raised as if he’s annoyed to be waiting for something.

Dolly freezes, her stomach dropping as she blinked in disbelief.

Caught off guard, she stammers, Uh… this is my room.

Principle looks up, his expression lacking any sort of sincerity. He smiles too wide, almost like a man who rehearsed this moment in the mirror for far too long.

Nonchalantly he replies, [peter]I’m sorry, that couldn’t be. I asked the people here where the room was of the person who ran the last two Maydays, and this is where they brought me[/peter]

Dolly’s heart sank. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t real.

Her old room, her sanctuary, had been claimed, usurped, and turned into a corporate showpiece.

What do you mean, they brought you here? choking back the anger, This was my room

Peter glanced at the clipboard, as though confirming some vague, XWF corporate nonsense.
[peter]I’m afraid there's been a mix-up.[/peter] his tone laced in apathy [peter]Not a big deal. I’m they’ll get you another place to stay. It’s just the… natural course of things[/peter]

He looks Dolly up and down, his eyes scanning her as if measuring her worth based on what he saw.
[peter]But I’m sure you wont mind staying in the common rooms with the rest of the wrestlers.[/peter]

Dolly can’t speak at first. Her fists clenched at her sides. Every fiber of her being wanted to push him out of the room, wanted to break everything in front of her, but she knew better. Corey’s words echoes louder in her mind, louder than ever. She wasn’t in control anymore.

Her response is curt, and icy Fine, I’ll bunk with the wrestlers

She turns sharply without a second glance at Peter, who just stands there, smiling like a robot, completely unaware of the whirlwind of anger rising inside of her.

It’s fine She says loudly enough for Peter to hear, I’m sure the XWF’s version of MayDay will be a snoozer. A cheap imitation with a small gate!

THE NEXT MORNING

Dolly steps out of her room, still wearing a white nightgown, and things have gone from bad, to worse. Thousands of “wrestling fans” have flocked to the commune grounds, even days before the event! There's loud techno music, empty celebration, and alcohol drifting through the air. People running around in swimsuits, some totally nude, jeering with gayety like this was the spring break of their lives.

But this isn’t springbreak. It’s the build up to MayDay 3, a warped spectacle… and everything Dolly had fought against.

She stands in the doorway, her stomach twisting. She watches as corporate banners flutter in the breeze, advertising XWF sponsors and seltzer beers. Annoying podcast-bros broadcasting from fancy suits with renowned right-winger douche bags, Elon Musk simps, and holocaust deniers. College kids vomiting from alcohol poisoning at 9 in the morning. The chaos unfolding around her feels like an assault on her soul.

What have they done? she seeths from under her breath,

Dolly watches as a man, dressed in bright colors and brandishing an… XWF MayDay-branded Champagne SuperSoaker? He hollers for the camera crews to “CATCH MY GOOD SIDE WHILE I FUNNEL THIS!” It was too much. Everything Dolly had worked for, everything she had bled for, was being turned into a party, a spectacle, a sideshow for a corporation to profit from.

This ain’t MayDay. This is a mockery.

Dolly storms through the commune, her eyes burning with righteous indignation. She wasn't waiting any longer. She needed to speak to Thad Duke. Now.

She marches with purpose, her flip-flops slapping the ground with anger that resonates in every step. She passes by a group of party-goers slashing neon-colored drinks in the air, they didn’t notice her. None of them recognized her as the woman who once stood proudly at the helm of MayDay, the woman that worked hard to build this place into a sanctuary for the people.

But no one here seemed to care anymore.

She reaches the production tent where the logistics for MayDay 3 are being run, only to find Peter Principle leaning against a table with a clipboard in hand, supervising this chaos.

Dolly’s voice cuts through the noise of the producers rushing around,

Peter. her tone was like a whip crack. Where’s Thad Duke? I need to speak to him. Now.

Peter turns, his expression vacant as usual. He forces a rehearsed smile, but it doesn’t fool Dolly for a second.

[peter]Oh, Dolly, I’m afraid Thad’s not around right now. He’s very busy with our… “vision” for the event. But don’t you worry, we’ve got everything under control[/peter]

Dolly’s patience snaps,

”Vision”? This place is a fucking circus, Pete. This ain’t what MayDay was supposed to be! What happened to the ideals of gratitude? What happened to the people?

Peter barely reacts. His slimy smile remains plastered on his face, like it was glued on.

[peter]Dolly, let’s not get emotional. This is the hottest spring break event XWF has ever had. It’s being broadcast live, for the next five days straight leading up to the matches. The audience is primed, the sponsors are happy, and we’re bringing the biggest crowd ever. This is exactly what the people want[/peter]

Bullshit! This isn’t MayDay anymore. This is corporate exploitation at its finest.

She steps closer, her voice rising, her anger burning

You’ve turned something beautiful into a cheap spectacle. You’re broadcasting it all as if it’s some party, something to sell and profit from. There’s nothing here worth fighting for anymore. The people who built this place, who fought for a better world, who fought for solidarity… this is what its become?

Peter’s eyes glint coldly as he smirks,

[peter]You’re a bit behind the times, Dolly. This is the future of MayDay. This is the real fight. You can call it whatever you want, but we’ve got sponsors. We’re bringing millions in. And that means we have the power to make things work.[/peter]

Before Dolly could fire back, a regular from the commune, a familiar face, approached her and smiled at her, his expression both genuine and hopeful

“Dolly! You’re here! You should say something to the crowd! They’ve been asking for you, for your speech, your calls for solidarity and hope!. It’d mean so much!”

Dolly blinked, her frustration making way for the faintest spark of what once was. The fire of leadership, the voice of the people. She looked to Peter, the words on the tip of her tongue, but as she reached out to take the mic that was handed to her, Peter immediately snatched it from her grasp.

[peter]Now, Dolly, you know the deal. This time slot is reserved for real stars, people the crowd can connect with. People they can understand. [/peter]

He waved the mic dismissively in front of her, as if it were and object unworthy of her hands.
[peter]Someone like… oh, Elon Musk’s son’s best friend, Tommy! The guy who did commentary on that new XWF MayDay branded crypto coin.[/peter]

The words of protest burn through Dolly’s throat, but before she can say anything, the room goes quiet as she looks at him. It wasn’t her usual response to being dismissed, but everything inside of her shattered at the way they’d treated her, how they stripped the meaning of MayDay away. How everything had become a joke.

Her expression hardens. A gentle breeze catching her white night-gown and blonde hair as she almost seems to be standing in a biblical glow. This isn’t about a show anymore. It’s about everything she had built… the heart of it all.

This. Is. A. Mockery.

Her voice rings out, filled with the kind of resolve that can topple mountains.

With one swift motion, Dolly grabs the nearest chair and hurls it at a nearby camera, sending a massive crash through the production. She knocks over tables, and tears wires from the floor, destroying what she can, and causing enough chaos that the production crew scrambles to save everything. The broadcast falters, and workers yell at each other to regroup.

Dolly’s anger flows, and she feels the rush of purpose surging through her as everything she built, and everything they tried to steal, was being reduced to rubble. She’s done. No more pretending.
Peter’s voice cries out, loud and shrill, from behind her,

[peter]Dolly, you’ve gone too far! I’m going to ban you from the show and you’ll forfeit your match! You’re done here![/peter]

Dolly turns back to face him, her eyes fiery with rage,

Ban me? Go ahead. But you can’t ban what’s coming. You can’t ban the truth. I’ll burn this whole damn thing to the ground if I have to.

Peter stands there, his mouth agape in disbelief, but Dolly doesn’t care. She spins on her heel heading for the exit as chaos erupts in her wake.

From the distance, Corey as been watching. He sighs deeply through his nostrils before following after Dolly.

Dolly auto-pilots her way to a secluded part of the property. A place only she and few others know about. There’s a lush pond buried off in the wilderness. The scene is peaceful, and a stark contrast to everything that had just unfolded. And it brings a moment of clarity when… Dolly sees Schism and North Korean War Baby feeding a loaf of bread to the geese.

Hey there! Are you lost?

Schism looks up, his cryptic grin appearing as he takes in Dolly’s state.

He unfurls a soiled Denny’s napkin from his shirt pocket, and studies it for a moment, then shakes his head ‘no’ at Dolly.

He looks down at NKWB who’s quietly chewing on some bread, staring off into the distance.

There she is, kid. Our tempest. Time to clean up Eden, yeah?

NKWB doesn’t speak, but his silence seems to affirm an unspoken plan.

Dolly nears them and gets a closer look, and gasps

Comrade?! she cries with a wild eyebrow raised in reaction to NKWB. The uncanny clone-like child-version of her old friend, North Korean War Criminal.

Co-co-co It almost sounds like War Baby is trying to utter the word Comrade, but inevitably just coos, slobbers out some mushy bread, and grins at Dolly,

Where do I remember you from? looking at Schism,

You’ve known me for a millina. I'm your harbinger of rebellion.

Dolly’s startled ever so slightly as a hand touches her shoulder from behind.

These friends of yours?

It’s Corey. He’s followed Dolly all the way out here.

Dolly looks over Schism and NKWB, and shakes her head.

No. They’re friends of ours.

Well good, because we may need all the help we can get to undo this mess.

He said as he and Dolly both looked out along the treeline, where even from this secluded area, the monstrous 40-foot-tall XWF corporate sponsorship logo shimmered in the gilded light.

Burn it all down.

She says, her eyes fixed on the monolith. And Corey just nods in silence.

I know just the guy who can help.

Funny how quickly fate can turn on a dime, right Isaiah?

Just weeks ago we teamed together with Madison on Warfare. Putting on one of the most brilliant trio-wrestling performances in recent memory. We invigorated one another. Where you had doubts walking in, I carried the confidence knowing that no combination of wrestlers, no matter how big or decorated their names were, could undo what we built.

And yet, here we are now, the very next show, pitted against one another, in the most ridiculous of ways by the same corporate stooges who’ve hijacked MayDay to begin with.

You, Isaiah, the man who’s so quick to tear down anyone who doesn’t see things his way, who’s always been all about power, fame, and myth-building.

Look at you now. You’ve got no qualms with this?

The heir?

The future?

Of what, exactly?

Yer' so-called reign in the XWF has just been a mechanism of the powers that be. A recycled version of every other failed crown. And look where it’s gotten you…

Fighting Dolly Waters while she fights for the soul of MayDay.

I hope it goes without saying that my fight means more than anything you can offer me…

No disrespect, but I’m fighting against the system that you grovel over to fight for.

That’s not you, is it, Isaiah? The groveling King?

You’ve been the lonely King.

The fool King.

The fragile King.

Now it’s the groveling faux-King walking into MayDay to do some symbolic dance with Dolly?

While ironically the only real King in the XWF fights for the Anarchy title?

But that’s not you, right?

Yer’ not cut out to be a King in the first place.

For a man who constantly blames his upbringing for why can’t rule Orun, you couldn’t possibly be playing pretend King in the XWF- - - Walking into this match arrogantly fighting for a kingdom that’s already rejected you. Right?

Because this fight against me is bigger than your ego, Isaiah. It’s bigger than your ‘empire’. Trust me. It’s about shaking the foundations of this system that allows men like you to rise to the top on the backs of others. Like you did with Ned Kaye.

Want to talk about empires, Isaiah? You talk about it ALL OF THE FUCKING TIME!

What did you do with that power, huh?

You’ve had everything handed to you, and you’ve squandered it.

You get the easiest path through WarGames, you get Bryce for the Uni while he’s vulnerable in a triple threat, and then you fall right on your face with it… for the second time in as many years you fumble the crown you so thirst after.

You’ve been here not even three years, Isaiah, and the XWF has tried and tried to see your fantasy kingdom a reality.

Meanwhile, someone like me, nearly a decade in the XWF and I’ve had what?

Three shots at the Universal Title?

We’re not fighting the same fights, Isaiah.

I’m fighting a system, while you’re just desperate trying to fight the notion that everyone wasn’t wrong about you.

Prove that the XWF was right in trying to anoint you.

Prove that the throne of Orun was right in calling you it’s heir.

And yet you keep failing all of them. You’ve brought neither any glory. Only excuses.

You told Shark that you were too “green” too “inexperienced” during yer’ first failed Uni run. And you assured him that he’d never dethrone you, because he was an “insecure child”. And then he rang your bell, buddy.

You constantly cry about how life wasn’t fair for you, and that’s why the people of Orun won’t follow you. Because you don't know how to wield the same powers of your father and brother. You’re too, AGAIN, “inexperienced” to unite the people of your kingdom, and instead sit back and watch daddy-dearest lead a malevolent slaughter against the rebels who actually believed in you!

Isaiah… yer’ no King.

You and I are what?

1-1 when we’ve actually given our best shots at one another?

I tapped you out in the center of the mat.

You needed a video replay controversy to pin my shoulders down.

That’s not counting the time you actually lost to Misty Waters either.

And yet you’ll come blathering to me about legacy and kingdoms, while truth be told… you have neither. You’ve built nothing but a house of cards, while I on the other hand walk into MayDay ready to deconstruct the actual empire of the XWF that runs you.

This fight means more to me than anything you’ve ever fought for. More than the countless opportunities you’ve been handed. What did they mean to you? Power? Glory? Recognition of the people? The simple truth is, you’ve been chasing that image of the King your whole life. But in the process, you forgot the only thing that makes a king real… purpose.

The heir who scrambles like a little boy trying to keep up with the bigger dogs. Who can’t even manage to keep his own story straight. How long have you been the “Lonely King”? Maybe deep down you *want* to be the “Lonely King” but deeper down, you know it’s just a cover for the fact that your own bloodline turned their backs on you.

You’re not fighting for your kingdom. You’re fighting for relevance. You’re fighting for another chance at the crown you’ve already proven too heavy for your head.

Me? I’m fighting for MayDay. I’m fighting for the soul of this place, the one the XWF has tried to corrupt. I’m fighting to take the power back from the system and put it in the hands of the people where it belongs.

So bring the fragile, fool, lonely, groveling King, and all of his dumb king-inspired wrestling moves to MayDay. On a day that honors the power of many, versus the rule of lordship… on a day where the guillotine is exercised on lousy Kings if necessary.

When it’s over, Isaiah, when I’ve beaten you, and you’re already rehearsing the next round of excuses, I don’t want you to leave.

I want you to stick around until the end of the show.

Where I’ll teach you that true power demands action, that it demands purpose, and that true power is taken.. not in the name of one, but in the name of all.

Welcome to our MayDay, Isaiah.

You, and the world are in fer’ one explosive ending.

We hear the sound of muffled footsteps, as a camera pans across a dark broom closet. The door cracks slowly, letting a sliver of light through.

Inside Peter Principle is hogtied, with tape over his mouth. His eyes dart nervously as he watches the figures step into the small, dimly lit space. The camera zooms in on his face, frustration and fear mixing in his watery eyes.

The camera pulls back like a trunk shot, revealing Schism holding NKWB, Corey, Dolly and…

Petey, old pal, look what trouble you’ve gotten yourself into now.

…Mark Flynn. All standing together.

Flynn grins, the lines of his face growing harder with determination as he steps forward, peeling the tape off Peter’s mouth.

[peter]WHAT ARE YOU DOING?![/peter]

Flynn takes a moment, letting the tension build before pulling a set of keys and a cell phone from Peter’s pockets, tossing them to Dolly with an almost dramatic flair.

Commandeering this MayDay ship, Petey.

We’re taking the power back

Peter’s eyes go wide and with a swift motion, Dolly punches him hard in the face.

The camera cuts to black.

(to be continued during the show)

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